


The Crypts

by bendthekneejon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 7, my own freaking essay about jonerys' survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 17:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendthekneejon/pseuds/bendthekneejon
Summary: Or: Why I Think Jon and Dany Will Make It Till The End.Dany meets Jon in the crypts of Winterfell and they talk about death, love and their future.A one-shot post season 7.





	The Crypts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took me a while to write. After season 7 ended, I was pretty worried and anxious, thinking about the chances and reasons for the both of them to either make it together to the end of ASOIAF or not. This fic was my own way of answering that question to myself, so after months of thinking hard about it, this was my conclusion.  
> I hope you enjoy this dialogue between them from Daenerys’ POV.

"The time is out of joint—O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!" - W. SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet

* * *

Dany walked down the white field of snow, watching her feet as she moved them one by one. She thought about how Winterfell was extremely different from any other place she had been in her life. This was the second time she was seeing snow, but the first time she was truly watching it. She had seen it first at the Wall during the wight hunt, but her attention had been in the thousands of dead people walking beneath her as she mounted Drogon, not really in the beauty of the snow.

Now, as she watched it fall from the sky and covering the stone walls, she thought it was one of the loveliest sights she had ever seen. Winter had arrived and the cold was harsh and unforgiving, but she felt like it was worth the view, a view that, at least for a moment, made her forget her worries and anxieties of having to meet with the Lords of the North the next morning. She would have Jon and his sister Sansa by her side, but she knew it would not be an easy dialogue. No northerner would be happy about their king bending the knee to a southern woman who many feared was as mad as her father.

She was heading to the crypts of Winterfell, looking for Jon. Everyone had left to their chambers already and Tyrion had told her that Jon might be at the crypts, as it had been the first place he'd gone to after arriving at Winterfell earlier that day, besides reuniting with Bran and Arya. It had been emotional to watch such reunion, she knew how important Jon’s family was to him. She knew how he had watched his youngest brother get killed before his very eyes. She felt a tear about to fall on her cheek but she tried her best to hold it in. She was not going to introduce herself, the future queen of Westeros and the queen for whom Jon had bent the knee, with tears in her eyes.

A month in a ship together had just come to an end. Jon Snow, her ally and lover, felt more like a husband given all the time they spent together, and all their political discussions and decisions they made together as allies. The long nights on board were only spent making love, with the sea rocking the ship and his hips rocking against hers, where the only sounds audible were the waves, their breath and their moans. It was with him that she realized why they called it “making love”. Kisses, embraces, a desperate need to love him and to be loved, a feeling so strong words could not describe it but their bodies probably could, as every touch, stroke and thrust had a language of its own. During every second of the ride, they both hoped they would never reach land to not leave the ship. It was a moment to forget who they were, young leaders with the weight of the world on their shoulders, with the biggest responsibility someone could ever have: save humanity.

Not only that, but they knew the great war was close. They knew that once they arrived at Winterfell, the preparations to fight the Others and destroy the Night King would be immediate, which meant that their deaths could also be close. Thinking about how little time they could have left had been enough for them to finally make a move, for him to hold her hand after he had almost died in the Wight hunt, for him to knock on her door, and for her to receive him without hesitating. It had been enough for them to forget about the outer world and lock themselves in her chamber. How could they have helped themselves? How could she have not taken him into her arms, a man she admired and grew to love? How could she ignore her feelings when they burnt and bloomed all from her very core and flooded every inch of her body, physically throbbing and aching for him, and every corner of her mind, clouding it by desire and a need of having him.

“Where have you been all my life?” she asked him one time.

Jon Snow, whom she had accused of being in open rebellion against her when they met in Dragonstone, spent every night in her bed now. He had a kindness and modesty she had never seen in another leader she had met. Jon respected her as much as she respected him, admired her as much as she admired him, and he saw her as an equal. She always had to be the strong, fierce queen, inspiring strength and hope to her people. She always had to hide her vulnerability and insecurities, but Jon saw beyond the Dragon Queen. He had seen past the Mother of Dragons, past her title as a Queen, he had fallen in love with who she was and did not care about her power. 

Because he truly did not care for power, not when he was Lord Commander nor now as King in the North. He had literally taken a knife in the heart for his people…and he had not bragged about it, he had not even talked to her about it, which made her realize that he had truly done it for his people and that his intention was completely altruistic. Just like her, he also believed that the people came first when it came to ruling.

Tears had fallen down her face when they lay together after the first time they made love and she stared at his scars while he slept naked next to her. He had done so much for others, but how much had others done for him? She had so much love inside of her to give him, and he deserved it all. Their whole lives they had always fought for others, to save others from death, slavery, ruthless tyrants or white walkers. But behind closed doors, they could forget about all their fears about war, politics, conquests and night kings. It was just the two of them, loving and being loved. But they knew they had to arrive at Winterfell at some point. They knew that they had to get back to reality and face their duty, as they would both lead the great war against the Others.

She had seen him in every way, happy, scared, hurt, naked and aroused. Yet she had never seen him as she was seeing him now as she walked into the crypts. In the dark, with only a few lit torches hanging on the dark stone walls, she could see Jon Snow sitting on the floor with his knees up, with his back and the back of his head against the wall, staring at a statue in front of him. It was not a sight she would have ever expected to see. Being in this position, he looked so small and vulnerable, not like a king at all.

He turned his head, and when he saw her walking in, he moved quickly and tried to stand up.

"Don't," she said. "Don't stand up, Jon."

Staring at her, she saw him exhale and adjust his body again on the floor. She could have sworn she saw his eyes watery when their gazes met, but she pretended not to notice.

"Tyrion told me you'd be here," she told him, her hands held together in front of her.

"What's going on?” he asked her. “Is everything alright?"

She nodded, "I was just looking for you. Can I sit?" she asked just in case he wanted some time on his own.

He nodded and adjusted his body as a signal for her to sit next to him.

She was wearing a long white furred dress, but she didn't mind getting it dirty. She sat down next to him against the cold wall, with her feet against the floor and her knees up, just like he was.

"I was going to go to bed in a second," he told her. She knew he was talking about either his room or hers. "But I reckoned I could come here now that the others went to bed and just," he paused, "be here for a while."

She gave him a soft smile and turned to see the statue in front of them.

"Your father?" she asked.

He nodded.

"I owe him my life," she said, he nodded again with a small smile. Ned Stark had abandoned his title of Hand of the King when he found out that Robert would send assassins to murder her, and for that, he had all her respect and gratitude.

"As do I," Jon replied. "If he had not taken me to Winterfell with him, I don't know what could have been of me." She stared at him. "Maybe my mother was a whore, maybe she did not want me. Maybe she died in childbirth, who knows? In any case, I'm not sure I would have survived if my father had not taken me in."

Dany smiled, "Everybody talks great things about him."

Jon sighed, "He was the only one who didn't treat me like a bastard."

Dany gave him a sad smile.

“Oh, Jon,” she said. “Being a bastard is not one's fault. How can they... _blame_ you for that?”

Jon sighed. She stayed quiet for a moment, it felt frustrating to think how he had been treated differently his whole life and how everyone had made him feel inferior even when he was just a little boy.

“You have a lovely family,” she changed the subject.

He nodded, “I can’t believe they're alive.”

She had her gaze fixed on him, and with a small smile, she told him, “You're lucky.”

“I'm sorry,” he only answered. “I wish you could have met yours.”

“Sometimes I wish I'd met them, sometimes I'm glad I haven't,” she replied.

He looked into her eyes, and moments later he broke her gaze and looked down, watching his hand as he intertwined her fingers with his. How she wished Jon could be her opportunity for a family. But her mother, her father, her two brothers, her husband, her unborn child and one of her dragons had died, so she wondered if she was doomed to never have a family.

"You can't deny that the probabilities of one of us dying...or both of us dying, grow by the second," she told him. He rubbed her hand with his thumb. “I'm scared of death,” she confessed.

“Why?”

“My house dies with me. I am the last Targaryen and the history of my house is not how I want it to be remembered. I have to change that. With me, this view of tyranny and madness must change. It represents everything I don't want to be as a queen.”

“You cannot carry all that responsibility on your shoulders," he said softly. "And we will destroy the Night King and his army. Could there be any better way to redeem your name? Your House?”

She looked down at their hands and pressed his. He was right. However, there was a bigger reason to why death frightened her.

“So many people around me are dead. My whole family is dead and…” she hesitated before continuing, ‘ _I don’t want to lose you too,’_ she wanted to say, or ‘ _I don’t want to die when I could have a life with you’._  She held the space between her eyebrows with her free hand. “I never really had the chance of…truly  _living_ ,” she said instead. “I couldn’t have a childhood, because my brother and I only looked for a place to live and for food, and as soon as I turned thirteen I was sold to Khal Drogo and from then on, my whole life has been only about either surviving or saving others. I have never had time for myself. I guess that’s the price to pay for power, though.”

Jon turned his head, resting his mouth against her hair. They stayed silent for a while.

"Do you think you'd come back if you die again?" she asked him.

“I told the red priestess to not bring me back the next time,” he replied. “What's the point of having a purpose, a reason to live, if you're not going to die, if you're going to come back anyway? Death makes you have a purpose."

She nodded, “We all need a reason to live.”

Their voices were quiet. She spoke in a tone that had seemed alien to her when she had heard it the first times, a tone she only used with him, a low, calm and serene tone she had not even used with her previous lovers.

“However,” Jon said. “Back then I…” he hesitated, “back then I did not have a reason for wanting to come back.”

He pressed her hand. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, understanding immediately.

 _Do all gods feel so lonely?_ Dany used to wonder regularly when she ruled in Meereen. Ruling not only took a great deal of time of the day, but it also made it extremely difficult to have genuine relationships with people, to know who truly cared about her and not about their own interests, which is why she was such a lonely girl. Were true relationships the price to pay for power? She used to wonder. Did all rulers feel this way? With Jon, she did not feel like this anymore.

“I don’t want you to die,” she told him.

"I don't want you to die either," he replied.

Yet here they were, a King and a Queen, sitting on the floor of the dimly lit crypts of Winterfell, looking up at the tall statues in front of them. It felt like they were children. They looked and felt so small. They  _were_  small next to death, which was so inevitable, so unforgiving. Next to death, it didn't matter if one was king, queen or a peasant, death came anyway, and they would see it face to face soon. She thought about how they were now surrounded by the dead, and soon they would go up north and the dead would surround them in a much more cruel and aggressive way. They would not be just statues in front of them, they would be thousands running towards them, or beneath them if they were on the back of a dragon, but all of them with one only goal: to murder them.

He looked down at the floor, "I would do everything in my power to bring you back if that were the case."

"To bring me back to life?" she asked him.

He nodded.

She sighed, “Oh, Jon. I…I tried to save my husband’s life with dark magic. It did not turn out well.”

“Dany, this is different,” Jon said. “It has not only happened with me. There are other red priests who have done it before the one who did it to me.”

“We will fight like we never have and we will give it all in that battle,” she told him. “And we will get back to each other.”

She placed her free hand over their intertwined hands, stroking the back of his. She was frightened of dark magic. He locked his gaze with hers. If they were in another location instead of paying respects to his family, she would have pressed a kiss to his lips in a reassuring way.

Could the both of them survive the war? What were the chances? She had seen him barely dead and had feared for his life when he fell into the cold water in the Wight hunt, and had stayed for days by his side until he woke up, feeling a sense of relief all over her body when she finally saw him opening his eyes. That was the first moment she understood she did not want him to leave her, even before they had explicitly expressed their love for one another.

Why couldn’t they just leave? Why did there have to be a war? Why were they the chosen ones to fight in this war? Why couldn’t she just quit being a queen, and he quit being a king, and try to be normal people? Why did she have to be fire resistant and him brought back from the dead…Why couldn’t they just be two normal people, with no extraordinary physical power, just like others? Why did they have to be these prophesied saviors?

“After the war,” she told him. “If we both survive…”

“You’ll be Queen of Westeros,” he replied right away.

She sighed, there was always a responsibility when another one was over.

Queen of Westeros. Was that what she truly wanted? Was that what she had always wanted?  _If I look back I am lost_ , she thought. But she had to look back. She had to look back at the times when she ran from door to door, holding her brother’s hand, asking for a roof to sleep in, selling their mother’s crown to pay for food. She had to look back to the house with the red door in Braavos, to the childhood and the family she never had. Was this not what she had always wanted? Wasn’t Jon her chance for a family, for the life she always wanted? She hoped every day Mirri Maz Duur was wrong or lying when she told her she was barren. But even if she could not have children, couldn’t Jon himself be her husband  _and_ family? Wasn’t he and the life she envisioned with him enough purpose to make it alive out of the war?

But this was not only about her, it was also about him. She knew how important family was to him, how much he wanted one of his own but had always feared to father a bastard. She wished she could make him as happy as he deserved it to be. She wondered, looking at him, if there was a chance. Could they survive the war? And if they did, could they have this life together? This life she had always longed for? This life that had slipped away from her fingers when, once again, death intervened and took her husband and unborn child from her?

She thought about love and death. Love sitting next to her and death standing in front of them. A tear fell down her cheek. If they both made it out alive, she knew she would pursue this life with him with the dedication she had pursued the Iron Throne and saved thousands all these years. He had ignited that spark in her once more. As politics had been a priority for so long, she had pushed her personal dreams and longings aside, but he had given her hope for them now. She understood now that a life with him was the biggest motivation to defeat the Army of the Dead.

She looked up at the stone statues once more. She hoped death would not take the both of them this soon. She hoped death could give them a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, writing this was a way of answering the ‘will they survive?’ question to myself. And as I kept on writing it, my opinions went from ‘maybe’ to ‘probably not’ to a final ‘yes’. Asoiaf is a love story, after all, as grrm said, their relationship is the point of the story. He didn’t write all these huge ass books of event after event, all of them leading to Jon and Dany meeting after going through such similar journeys and views on ruling to kill them off after the war, or to kill one of them and leave the other one on their own. I really want to hear your opinion about this! :)  
> I figured we are not the only ones so scared about Jon or Dany dying, they must be scared as hell about it too.  
> Finally, for the ones who do read to be alone with you, this was inspired in chapter 17, sorry for writing this instead of the new chap, it’s on its way! 
> 
> Ps: if you’re interested, this is the main meta which made me believe in their survival in the end of asoiaf:  
> http://mhysaofdragons.tumblr.com/post/165958584895/i-know-people-are-saying-the-ending-will-be  
> http://jonsnoe.tumblr.com/post/166212583456  
> https://lawonderlandwriter.tumblr.com/post/165356476754/why-jon-and-daenerys-wont-die  
> http://swell-bean.tumblr.com/post/164819740202/so-ive-been-thinking-about-this-alot-and-though  
> https://mudinyourlungs.tumblr.com/post/164301265563/people-complaining-about-jon-and-dany-getting  
> http://maesterleia.tumblr.com/post/147707928752/what-are-the-chances-of-a-nissanissa-sacrifice-at


End file.
